Dice, Camera, Action!: Souvenir
by Wramysis
Summary: Paultin reflects on how often he and his friends have died, and decides that it's time that he carry a souvenir from each of them.


A.N.: This was an idea that I just couldn't get out of my head and had to write. What's even cooler is that at some point Nate updated his character sheet to add this item to his equipment list. I can't say for sure that it was due to this story, but it's fun to think that. ;) This takes place after the fight with the zombie beholders and Paultin's resuscitation.

* * *

Paultin gasped for air, not realizing that he had been holding his breath as his mind replayed the nightmare scene once more. The dark vision was coming to him almost daily now, ever since Lathander's priest had brought him back to life. This time, his brain added a fun new twist - instead of his own body crumbling into dust, he saw his friends disintegrate before his eyes. It brought back uncomfortable reminders of the _fear_ spell that the disgusting forgery of Evelyn had once cast on him, which had made him see his friends frozen solid by his hand, still bearing the cursed Ring of Winter.

The bard had already been through so much; witnessing and experiencing more misery than any person should ever have to bear. Ironically, this wasn't even the first time he had been raised from the dead, but for some reason, this episode was affecting him differently. Maybe something had gone wrong with the priest's spell, or this was Lathander's way to force him to atone somehow. He should probably ask Evelyn.

_Evelyn..._

Though it honestly came as no surprise given how reckless she was, he had a hard time accepting that she had died three times already. She would tell them that Lathander was a god of rebirth, and that it was "no big deal" to her. But Paultin worried that one of these days, Lathander might decide that enough was enough, and keep her at his side. That statue of her in the church was marked "Saint Evelyn", and though she was alive now and back in her human body, there was a chance it was only a temporary thing. _How long would it be before she put herself in mortal danger for them once again?_

His hand automatically slipped through his shirt to grab the necklace where he had hung her ring and one of Simon's gears. It didn't belong to _this_ Simon, but the one who had come before, whose broken parts he had gathered up in a sack and thrown down at Diath's feet. Evelyn had carried them all the way back to Citadel Adbar, and that messed up dwarf had built her a body out of the pieces instead of reforging their son. Paultin later discovered that one of Simon's small gears had fallen into his pocket. He didn't know if some form of Simon's spirit still lived on, but the gear was a constant reminder that his second boy could also be taken from him at any time.

He lit a candle on the nightstand by his bed and sought comfort from its glow, spinning both the ring and gear gently on their chain to make them reflect the golden light. Thinking of his recent dream, he reached into his bag and also pulled out the doll Strix had made for him. It was dirty and made from mismatched pieces of cloth, much like Strix herself. He smiled as he detected the faint bitter smell of old wine, which she had no doubt spilled on it to make it more authentic. Strix had told her friends that the dolls were all she had left to remind herself of them over the fifty years she lived alone in the Barovian swamp. Paultin couldn't imagine how hard that must have been for her. Sure, _he_ had been alone most of his young life; at least during the parts he could remember. But after that fateful day when he had stolen the barkeep's coin purse, resulting in him and three strangers getting tossed out of the inn and deciding to start adventuring together, he knew that he always had a family to come home to. When he had stormed off into the Shadowfell, the Ring wanted to use the power of their friendship as the catalyst to create its own Domain of Dread. Paultin may have been insane enough at that time to think that murdering his friends was a good idea, but he never once doubted that they would come for him.

As he held onto the three objects, it struck him that he was still missing a memento from Diath. Paultin had amused himself the first few nights in their new mansion by casting _invisibility_ on himself, slipping into Diath's room in the middle of the night, and hiding one of his keys. The locations were not all that difficult to find, and Diath never once complained out loud or accused Paultin of the deed, which only encouraged the bard to keep doing it. But Paultin knew that keeping a key as a souvenir was out of the question, since Diath would eventually need it back. Even worse, that creepy fox lady might come looking for it. And Paultin would never forget that foreboding pulse of energy that came out of Strix and Diath when the rogue had actually _handed_ _her_ a key. No way did Paultin want to be involved any of that nonsense.

Then he remembered one thing that he knew Diath had no need of. Paultin grinned and again cast _invisibility_. He crept quickly over to Diath's door, dismayed that with Strix now sleeping in her own room, his footfalls were no longer masked by the roar of her snoring. He very carefully made his way over to the pile of clothes that Diath had tossed onto the ground. He gingerly picked through the pile, hoping that the offhand comment Diath had once made about them being invisible was only true when they were put on. Finally he spotted them - a pair of worn leather gloves with small runes stitched along the sides. The hide bore multiple stains and burn marks, and carried a faint smell of sweat.

He heard the young thief-but-not-a-thief stir beneath his sheets, and Paultin quickly scooped up the treasure and tiptoed his way over to the door. But just as he thought he had made it, Diath called out to him, "Wandala's are in the top drawer."

Paultin scowled at being discovered. He debated whether to say anything, and finally admitted to Diath, "Actually, _this_ was the pair I wanted."

Diath stayed silent a few moments, while Paultin hoped he wouldn't draw the conversation out and risk making things awkward. But Diath, clever boy that he was, seemed to have pieced together his intentions.

"I understand. Good night, Paultin."

He hesitated, but finally gave in and replied, "'Night Diath."


End file.
